What we choose to do with the rest of our lives

I've been through too much in the past few years to even consider having a mid-life crisis.  BUT...

Recently I got the word that a couple of my old high school pals... who are already doing amazing things out in the world... are taking part this summer in the Mongol Rally.  If you have not heard of it, it's an annual 8500-mile race from London to the capitol of Mongolia in a teeny tiny car to raise money for charities. It's sure to be the adventure of a lifetime.

It's not one I will ever enjoy.

My friend Ben talked about it to the students at Quartz Mountain this summer, and posted this great video of his talk:  http://vimeo.com/69668154.  It reminded me of what an amazing guy he already is and always has been, and I was both proud to be his friend and a little sad that I didn't grow up to be as cool as he is or do any of the super cool things he has done.

I have many friends from high school who went on to do and be cool things and people. And I'm fortunate to have had them in my life. There's my high school best friend Wendi who's practicing psychology in San Francisco, friend and another former Quartz Mountain student Amy who's a minister in Washington DC, my dearly beloved Chris, who's a computer genius of some sort that I'm not quite smart enough to understand in Raleigh, NC (he's going with Ben on the Mongol Rally, by the way), and my best friend from junior high school, Amy in Norman Oklahoma who works with kids who are abused and neglected. All from my high school years.

Since then I've been fortunate enough to make other amazing friends:  Mary, a former nun my mother's age who shoots photographs and greets life with a warm smile every day. Jin, a woman made from grit and glory who simply won't take no as an answer from life and reminds me every time I see her what it means to be a friend; Nick, a paleontologist and gentle man in every true sense of the word, and Michael, a dear friend who's a gifted singer-songwriter, one of the most genuine and caring individuals I have ever met, and all around fabulous positive person.

I'm proud to be in their company, even though most of the time I'm not, as they all live elsewhere.  Even so, it's good to know that all of these great people call me friend, and would be glad to see me if I showed up at their door.

I was feeling low about not being the sort of person who will ever go on the Mongol Rally.  And then I realized that these friends of mine are amazing people whom I love... not because of what they DO... but because of who they ARE.  They are good-natured, humorous, humble and devoutly human people. If they were all puffed-up jackasses, it wouldn't matter WHAT they were doing.  I wouldn't admire or care for them. If all any of them ever did was tend their garden and bird-watch... I would STILL be wowed by their points of view, their insight, and their gift for caring about people and making things make sense.

Perhaps it's not too late for me to have global adventures. But even if I never do, I hope I can approach my life with the same amount of dedication and passion that these folks do.  We make choices as we go along, and sometimes choices are made for us and we have to adapt. It has taken me more than 40 years, but I'm finally writing for a living... something everyone around me always said I would do, since before my own days as a student at Quartz Mountain. I live and work in a beautiful place. I raise my wonderful son with as much love and wisdom as I can muster, and apologize when I get it wrong.

I'll watch every bit of information I can get from Ben and Chris as they make their journey across the world. It will be full of humor and character and great photographs and cool experiences... because that's the sort of people they are.

I'll be there in spirit.

In Which I Sleep on the Floor with the Dog

I am a bad Dog Mom.

I didn't mean to be.  I was trying to be a Good Dog Mom.  But it backfired on me.

Sunday we took two out of three dogs to the river for a romp.  The two big dogs (Flower and Roxy) get to go because they A) love water, B) need the exercise, and C) don't disappear over the horizon the second they are off the leash, or else run barking at small children and large dogs or else plow right into the middle of a riverside baptism, like SOME dogs do.

The little dog stays home.

The two dogs have very different ideas of what constitutes a good time at the river.  Flower thinks a good time is running through the tall grass in the nearby field, exploring the woods, and rolling on dead things. Roxy thinks a good time is leaping into the water and swimming after whatever stick, frisbee, or ball you (or anybody, for that matter) have thrown... over and over and over.  Roxy will chase the stick, frisbee, or ball until she drops dead or your arm falls off, whichever comes first.  I know this.  I know that I have to monitor how much time we spend playing, because she won't stop... ever.

Sunday, we sort of lost track of time.

Now, when Flower gets tired, she plops down somewhere and rests.  When her feet get sore and tired of walking on river rocks, she stands in the grass and refuses to come down to the bank. This is because Flower is not a crazy.

When Roxy gets tired, she barks at you to throw it again, throw it again, throw it again.  She simply refuses to acknowledge or admit fatigue and spends pretty much the entire time in motion:  swimming, running, or jumping. She also doesn't show that she's tired and sore (I honestly don't think she even knows she is) until you get her home.  This is because Roxy is crazy.

Last night she was so sore and tired that, once she had limped into the house and lay down on the floor, she wouldn't get up, even to eat.  I had to set her bowl down between her paws.  She growled at John when he tried to lift her onto the sofa. By 8:00 she was whining continually, so I gave her a tramadol, and was then obliged to give her another every 4 hours all night long.  When the pills wore off, she would cry and wake me up.  Then she'd cry until the pills took hold again.  She was so pitiful that I finally got out of bed and lay down on the floor next to her and rubbed her belly while we waited for the medicine to kick in.  It was the only thing that kept her quiet.

I felt terrible. Now I'm worried that she may have damaged her ACL like she did once before.  This means another $200 in dog drugs, if not surgery.  So, like I said, I've been a really baaaad Dog Mom. For my penance, I suppose I will wake up every four hours and lay on the floor with the dog.

Speaking of Frogs...

It's funny that frogs keep turning up in my life right now.


Think about frogs.  Frogs are transformational animals.  They begin life as one thing and wind up as something else entirely.  It may not be as dramatic as the change that butterflies go through, but it's not insignificant.  Growing legs, learning to breathe air, and hopping out of the nice safe water into the big wide world is no small feat.

Lately I've been trying to initiate my own transformation.  Seems like I'm always doing that, actually, but in the past few weeks in particular, I've been making a conscious effort to come out of my cocoon.

I had a sort of wake-up call when my 12-year-old son looked at me one day and said "Mom, you need some friends."

Um.  Okay.

It's true, though.  I've become pretty isolated.  I didn't mean to, and I didn't even realize it was happening until recently. John has a new buddy:  a fellow restaurant-business-guy whom he plays music and frisbee golf with. He brought said guy over to meet the dogs, hoping to recruit him to dog-sit for us while we're on vacation in August.  We had an enjoyable evening of hanging out, and after everyone was gone, that's when the bomb dropped.  I need some friends.

I've never been very good at making friends. Not that I'm unlikable or weird or creepy or anything. I don't think I'm too bossy or annoying or anything like that. I just get awkward making that step from "hey howya doin'" to "Hey you want to have coffee."  Thank god I was born a woman.  I'm sure if I was a guy I'd never have the courage to ask a woman out.

I tend to keep things light and surfacey.  I make jokes, I'm "entertaining," but it's all just on the surface:  like a water-skater bug, skimming along, never getting wet. The problem with that is, that all the good stuff is below the surface, and while sometimes I can see it from up here in water-skater land, I'm not part of it. And the longer I'm up here by myself, the more the folks down below in the party forget I was ever there.  I recede.


So I'm trying to become more of a frog.  Frogs, being creatures of both land and water, are comfortable in both elements. They can swim below the surface and be part of what's happening; they can dip in and out whenever they please; or they can climb out on a nice warm lilly pad and mind their own business.  Surface tension keeps them neither out nor in.

So, I'm trying to be consciously less "entertaining" and more "present" in my daily dealings with the creatures both above and below the surface. When I greet someone on the surface, I leave my hat and cane behind and I'm trying to be still and listen, then respond honestly and genuinely.  Likewise when I dip into the actual social realm, I must try not to be the dancing frog... just the frog swimming among other frogs:  listening, and responding. Not just talking and waiting for my chance to talk again.

This is challenging for me, and will require cracking open my shell a bit more than I have been lately, as well as resisting the urge to hide behind my jokes and small talk.  I have to Be the Frog. Dip in, climb out.  Dip in, climb out.

Ribbit.  Also, some frogs can be completely frozen and come back to life.  So that's encouraging.
Watch this video to see for yourself:  http://videos.howstuffworks.com/tlc/28588-understanding-frozen-wood-frogs-video.htm